


Woman, Scorned

by usnolved



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usnolved/pseuds/usnolved
Summary: Elisabette Victoria's life was anything but easy. The flames that licked her skin would burn inside her for eternity, and she would never extinguish them. Emmett Cullen's heart of gold does nothing but strike Elisabette at the core - and the feeling is mutual. She swears he makes her life a living hell. He promises he will.
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Carlisle Cullen/Original Female Character(s), Emmett Cullen/Original Female Character(s), Leah Clearwater/Rosalie Hale
Kudos: 15





	1. The Past Can Never Be Passed

As the sun set in a small European village, currently lost in time, a young woman stared at the retreating light. Not directly, of course, but in the reflection of a small pond. She wondered where the light went as it left her sight, hoping it would come back in the morning. Her long hair blew in the wind, dark tufts covering her vision to her right, wild and untamable. A young child, whose matching locks and bright eyes inadvertently marked himself as her son, ran up to her and tugged on her dress. 

Their matching grey irises set them apart from the rest of the village, whose piercing dark eyes sent glares and malice their way. Terror crossed the minds of the villagers - young and old - who were already fighting for survival in a disease ridden village as they had no want for a witch. The young woman’s husband pulled gently at her hand, bringing her into their home, and away from the fearful and fear-inducing looks of the villagers. 

“Elisabette, please,” the young man pleaded with his wife, “stop bringing Abbas to the pond, he is much too young for their scorn.” 

Alas, this conversation had taken place many a night before that, none retaining in the young woman’s brain. Her rationale concluded that her son would face ridicule from the superstitious village his whole life, and he would only need to get used to it. 

“Sometimes I worry you may actually be a witch, what with your lack of care for the townspeople,” he was only joking yet Elisabette’s pink lips stayed shut. 

They continued with their night as usual: they ate dinner and then retired to bed. Perhaps the family knew something would happen, though none knew the hate which the village carried for the mother and son. Their fear of the unknown, which they were sure the light-irised young woman brought with her in the form of black magic, carried them to one universal solution: burn the witch. 

Elisabette had heard rumors of witch trials taking place all over Europe, never fearing she herself would be involved in one. She had never pegged the townspeople as violent or malevolent. The hatred they showed her that warm May night proved her wrong and, oh, how she wished it hadn’t. 

Sharp fibers of rope pricked at her skin and the wooden staff lifted her off the ground. Freshly chopped wood surrounded her body at the bottom and the young woman tried very hard not to think about the fire that would encase her body, leaving her as nothing but ashes and memories. 

When her husband’s teary eyes landed on his helpless wife, he hid his face in their sons hair. He hated to think Abbas would be the last memory of Elisabette, but knew there was nothing he could do that would change the minds of the angry and fearful villagers. His wife mouthed ‘I love you’ to him one last time and smiled at their son, knowing it would be the last time. 

Elisabette knew it was a stupid idea, that if they found her, she would certainly be subjected to much worse things that burning at the stake. Though, something in her mind convinced her to at least try. When the time came, she yelled, widening her eyes in faux fear and motioning her head at something in the village. As the townspeople stopped and turned, fearing something worse than a witch, they had fallen into her trap. 

When the townspeople turned around, the staff was bare, with nothing but a pile of loose ropes at the bottom. They yelled in retribution while her husband tried his hardest not to smile, only holding their son closer. 

The dark haired woman found herself in the forest, alone yet not scared. She found comfort in the thick brush, despite having never been there. As she tried to put away the thought of her young son having to grow up without a mother, her body suddenly became very cold. Stopping dead in her tracks, she noticed the slight movement in the trees and took a deep breath, trying to convince herself to only look straight ahead. 

Alas, just as Eve took the apple, Elisabette turned to the venomous monster before her and, just as the serpent, it struck.


	2. The Ferocity You've Shown

As an orange leaf floated from the tip top of a large oak tree, a young woman, meant to be burned and ended up scorched, sat on a branch of the same tree. She watched life go on without her, as if her presence never truly mattered, like Earth would keep spinning if she hadn’t been sitting on the limb. Elisabette watched as the grass grew and froze, over and over again, each year without fail. If one were to truly look, they would notice how her eyes practically matched the falling leaves, the symbol of a new Autumn. 

The years were not kind to the young woman, seeing as humans never truly change. Yes, their fashion and morals adapt to the century they’re in - most of the time, that is - but man will always be the descendant of animal; and Elisabette knew this to be their biggest strength and the cause of their inevitable downfall. The once bright-eyed mother, now barren and venomous, was beside herself with boredom in the current time. 

Although she knew it to be a risk, she found herself on The King’s court, despite the fact she had no particular interest in Charles II, only the luxuries that came with being a royal mistress. He never questioned her ginger irises, only the color of silk she wore draped across her pale skin in the late hours of the night. Sometimes, however, despite her prevalent status, Elisabette found herself wandering the streets of London, partly to show off her royal garments and jewelry, and partly to remind herself of the struggle she came from. Though, she had forever to remember and the commoners were barely expected to live past 30. 

As she flitted down the cobblestone street, Elisabette had to stop suddenly, her predatory instincts rising to the surface with the prevalent scent of blood. Her eyes became black and venom pooled in her mouth, and she knew she had to find the source. Servants in the castle began to fear her when others went missing, and she remained silent - only showing the glint of her razor sharp teeth and her crimson eyes. The fear ran deep in the castle walls - not that Charles cared - and Elisabette began to feed on animals to silence the whispers. Even though she craved human blood, she sustained but the scent of the warm substance would be her breaking point. 

She found the source in the depths of the sewers, where a nomad was preparing to kill his fear-paralyzed prey: a young blond man, clutching his bleeding neck. Elisabette hissed at the opposing vampire and grabbed at his arm while clutching his head and began to pull in opposite directions until his head finally detached from his marble body. She took her place on the ground on her knees beside the young man and smiled at him. 

“This’ll only hurt for a second,” she claimed before she began to finish what the disembodied immortal had started. Before she could finally give him what he craved, Elisabette began to bite at his neck instead, injecting him with her venom. She leaned down, whispering only as loud as he could hear, “I lied.”


	3. To Be Immortal Is To Sin

Not once had Elisabette imagined having to drag an unconscious man through the streets of England. However, she picked up the dying young man, careful to avoid marking her satin dress with blood, and made quickly to the castle, dodging the guards stationed seemingly everywhere. When she made it to her room, she almost threw the body onto the bed, not particularly careful to protect the gold duvet from the violent gash on his neck. His dried blood stained her porcelain skin, tainting the perfect surface.

She almost pitied the stranger whose scent nearly made her dizzy. Elisabette, too, had not had a choice in her immortality. However, as she slid the white gloves off her delicate fingers and placed them on his hot skin, she felt cold. She felt unloved by a father, almost as if she was being persecuted again. Removing her hand from the young man’s face, Elisabette almost saw what she had done as mercy. Though, the same justification had probably come from her attacker. Carlisle, as she learned his name was, would benefit her greatly in her endeavor to immense power. 

Three days later, Elisabette sat idly in her chambers, reading a book given to her by The King when she heard Carlisle’s heart gradually slow until it had completely stopped beating. She ran to his side, the once large gash on his neck healed by her venom. His eyes opened quickly, crimson irises worriedly scanning the room as he jumped into a defensive position. 

“Carlisle, it is okay,” Elisabette’s gentle voice soothed the newborn and he grasped at his throat as he lowered his defense. 

“Who are you? What did you do to me, witch?!” Her calm demeanor hid the annoyance she felt inside. She had to remind herself that all of England was raising their children like this, and it was not the children's faults. Carlisle was yet another defenseless apprentice, brought up by a father who displayed his hatred under the guise of religion. 

“My dear, I am Elisabette,” she sauntered to his side, gently rubbing his forearm, “and I have made you better than you ever could have been as a mere human, stuck with that pastor father of yours.” 

“B-but I-I,” Carlisle stuttered, finally taking in his surroundings. 

“Your anger became you. We will have plenty of time to work on that. For now, though, we must leave the castle. In fact, we must leave England,” Elisabette knelt down beside the large bed, seemingly looking underneath the oak posts for something. After feeling around for a bit, she pulled out a small wooden box, carved with intricate details. Carlisle figured a specialist must have made it, and it had to have been very expensive. Once she had gently tucked the small item under her arm, she smiled at the blonde man and ushered him out of the room. 

Once they had left the castle, once again avoiding all of the guards, Elisabette and Carlisle ran off, leaving the life of English luxury behind. They ran for what seemed to be a short while, but had traveled a long distance when Elisabette realized that Carlisle must be starving! She slowed the two of them down when they reached the tree line of a small village, plagued by poverty and drunks. 

“What is the matter?” Carlisle whispered. 

“Wait here.” With that Elisabette quickly made her way into the heart of the village, trying - and failing - to look as normal as possible. Her purple silk dress with gold embroideries made that impossible, she was a natural stand-out. She made her way into a bar, immediately overwhelmed at the smell of stale beer. Her red eyes scanned the room, landing upon a drunken man, whose knuckles were bloodied and legs too wobbly to stand on. She made her way to him, his human mind already enraptured with the pale beauty. 

Elisabette didn’t have to try very hard to seduce the man. He slurred out, “Y’know I used to be a soldier.” 

Oh, I’m sure, she wanted to say, but held her tongue. “I have always found a brave man so,” she stroked his arm with her cold finger and he shivered, “attractive.” 

It took a mere two seconds before he followed her out of the bar, stumbling along the broken streets. They reached the tree line quickly, Carlisle’s instincts taking over and draining the life out of the man. Once he realized what he had done, he stared at the blood and the man all at once, then dropped to his knees and began to pray. 

“My dear Carlisle, the world is not as simple as you might think. This man was a drunk, you saw his drunkenness-” 

Carlisle interrupted her, “So he deserved to die?!” 

Elisabette stroked his blonde hair, soothing him, “Dear, look at his knuckles: bloodied. He beat his wife to nothing the night last, he was not a good man. Good men know to not follow strange women to the woods.” 

“How did you know his wife was beaten? Did he tell you? Or do you assume because of his bloodied knuckles?”

“Carlisle, some of our kind have gifts. Some are strong and some are powerful, mine, my dear, is powerful. With but one touch I can see everything that you have seen, everything you might see, and everything you have felt. You see, I have learned after many years that we decide what we feel when we feel it. Your anger from hours ago was decided then. Together, we can control it. Just as we can control your thirst,” Elisabette explained. Carlisle slowly nodded, flinching slightly as Elisabette wiped the blood that dripped from his lips. “Now we must go, quickly.” 

Once they had reached the ocean, Carlisle starred in wonder. 

“I’ve never even left London,” the blonde mused. 

“Oh darling, there’s a whole world to see!” 

The duo reached France quickly, fleeing to the countryside before people would notice they were English. Thick brush made it almost impossible to comfortably run, so the two walked at a brisk pace, settling for a comfortable silence. Elisabette led them to a small cottage surrounded by colorful flowers and lush trees. 

“Welcome to my French home!” Elisabette announced as she opened the door, large amounts of dust visibly falling from the ceiling. She sighed, “Well, no mind, could use a bit of cleaning but we have all the time in the world.” She laughed at her own joke while Carlisle looked through the small home. 

“Where are the beds? I see nowhere to sleep.” 

Elisabette looked away from him, attempting to find the right words, “Carlisle, dear, we do not need sleep. Or food. Or any other necessity for humans,” her lips found their way to his neck, where they lightly pressed on what had been his pulse point, “We are so much more.”


	4. Lies From Lust And Power

As the days grew colder, Carlisle’s affection grew warmer. Elisabette knew he had never felt a woman’s touch when she held him the first night. His inexperience astounded her and she felt compelled to teach him. His newborn hunger for her excited and beckoned her. She knew her lover had begun to wonder if this was how they would spend their immortal lives, hidden and only filling their days with sinful pleasures. Elisabette assured him that once his thirst was under control, they would explore the world and find more sinful pleasures to indulge in. This struck fear into Carlisle’s heart. What would his father think of him now? 

When the snow began to fall, Carlisle began to wonder if perhaps his immortality could be a blessing. What if he became a doctor? He could help the sick without the risk of dying himself! Elisabette was immediately against this idea. She told him that exposing himself to humans would surely get him killed, that Aro wouldn’t hesitate to kill a reckless newborn. 

“Who is this ‘Aro’ you always speak of? And I can attest to the fact that I would never expose myself, only helping where I am needed,” Carlisle calmly argued. 

“Aro is of the Volturi, they enforce the laws of our kind. You are welcome to visit, perhaps he needs a doctor!” Elisabette spat, her eyes seemingly becoming more red to the newborn. 

“If you do not wish for me to study medicine then just say-”

“I do not wish for you to study medicine. It is irresponsible and a waste of knowledge. Besides, why leave _me_ for all the sick humans. Humans die, it’s what they _do_.” Elisabette ran a long finger down the side of Carlisle’s porcelain face, willfully enchanting him once more. To close her argument she added, “Newborns need all the control they can get, darling, you have none.” He agreed and their lips met in a flaming passion. 

Two years passed before Carlisle dared to bring up medicine to Elisabette again. Sun poured into the garden, causing diamonds to dance on her skin as she lay completely flat on the grass, her eyes closed in a relaxed manner. Just looking at her made Carlisle fall in love all over again, she was intoxicating. When he managed to get out his point about having enough control to be around humans, her fiery eyes opened. 

“Please do not tell me this is about you wanting to study medicine again. I told you, ‘tis a waste of your knowledge, my love.” She ran her hand through his blonde locks, convincing him. 

He pulled away from her, “What if, and this is only a suggestion, darling, what if I went elsewhere to study.” 

When her jaw began to clench, he swore he saw cracks forming. Still, she put on a smile, albeit fake. “If you would like to waste your time on beings that will crumble from this earth, then go on. Just know that once you leave, I may not be here when you return.” 

Carlisle bit his lip in an anxious manner. How was he to choose between his true love and his passion for helping people? The night he left for Italy, thunder cracked overhead and he pondered his decision. Elisabette sat on the floor, venom falling from her eyes as tears. 

“Men,” she muttered angrily. 

One year passed before Elisabette could gather the courage to even think of Carlisle. She wondered if he had made friends with Aro, or if his ashes had been swept away and joined with the Earth. Of course, she found other lovers, they were never hard to find. They always found themselves wondering if she had been but a fever dream, the way she left so quickly. 

She could never stay in one place for too long, domesticity was never her main choice. Until Carlisle, of course, but she forced herself to forget that life. It was behind her and she could not look back, as per usual. Her nomadic life brought her to Egypt, where she caught up with an old friend, Amun. 

“Where is Demetri? I have missed his company,” she told Amun. 

“He has...left us. The Volturi used their newest toy to steal him.” Her friend was angry, maybe even sad. Demetri had been like a son to him. Elisabette pursed her lips, knowing that Aro would have killed Amun before letting Demetri’s abilities go. She apologized to Amun, hoping Kebi had done the same. Kebi had always been jealous of her husband’s affection towards the Greek boy. 

Elisabette told Amun and Kebi of Carlisle, pain hidden in her chest but evident in her eyes. She spoke of his wisdom and his almost patriarchal calmness. Amun proposed that perhaps, one day, Carlisle would lead a coven of his own. Elisabette scoffed at the idea. Her Carlisle would always come back to her, and she had no time for continuous newborn phases or consistent lapses in control. Her Carlisle would come back, and it would be them alone, or so she hoped. 


	5. Weakening Throughout The Years, Unhinged

Everyone told her to move on, to find someone else and flourish. That would be impossible, she thought. Forever unchanging in a world that constantly is, is enough to kill things that flourish. To find someone new would mean leaving the idea of Carlisle behind, and Elisabette wasn’t sure if she could do that. Her soul yearned for the idea of him and his unrelenting love. Who else could provide that? 

The New World was strange, complex and so largely small. She was forced into learning the way of being human, the way word spread so quickly in this new country scared her. After finally getting into a routine of acting inconspicuous, the war broke out. The British attacked citizens and men and boys were forced to give up their lives to retaliate. During this revolution, she met another immortal. Garrett was a newborn, as could be told by the red of his eyes and blood in his veins. He spoke of his sister, dead as a result of the war. With a grasp of his shoulder, she saw her, Lottie. Dark hair flew behind her, contrasting her brother’s sandy blond, dark eyes fixated on Garrett as he chased her. 

“She was gorgeous,” Elisabette said, as much sympathy in her voice as she could muster. 

“Lottie was so much more than that, she was so smart, even when she made foolish decisions.” 

Elisabette hummed in response, her hand finding Garrett’s as a sign of comfort. Then she saw him, her Carlisle. When she thought of perhaps staying with the soldier, the image of her love disappeared. Fate had already contracted her loneliness in neat cursive letters. Faced with the decision of what to do next, Elisabette pondered living at the bottom of the ocean for a while. Of course, surviving on fish blood and the bodies of drowning seamen couldn’t be pleasant. She stayed above sea level that century. 

The Revolutionary War drug on for what felt like forever, the end product being a new country that promised freedom and surely unattainable dreams. She floated through the front half of the nineteenth century with ease. Her ever unchanging body was looked upon by young southern gentlemen who grew up on plantations drinking sweet tea and preaching hard work while their father’s slaves worked the fields. Abolitionism seemed to be her calling, and she answered with pride. Of course, as previously discussed, animal is the predecessor of man. When faced with opposition, men will always revert to their primal instinct: war. 

When the Union asked Elisabette if she would spy on the Confederacy, a great payment promised for fulfilling her “duty to the nation”, she had no choice but to agree. She saw firsthand the propaganda spread by the great traitors of the United States: “The Union threatens to burn our cities to the ground! Take back what is ours!”, “They  _ will _ come to take our land and kill our people should we stand idle!”. She felt sorry for the men who willed their lives as sacrifice for flamed lies. 

It was around this time that the Southern Vampire Wars began, more gruesome than any human war could wish to be. Cities were wiped off the map entirely by territorial immortals with no grasp on cohabitation. Elisabette could only roll her eyes at her kind, so selfish and entitled. She unwillingly hoped that the Volturi would step in, only they never did, and the smell of burning sweet bleach never left the south. 

Oh, how time fails to make the powerful see how weak they are. The twentieth century shaped the way Elisabette saw the world, and even more how she saw herself. Within fourteen years of the new century, another war emerged. One that would forever change the way the planet saw war. Of course, this generation never saw how the Romanians and Volturi fought. With the battles ceased and the treaty signed, Elisabette could finally breathe again. 

She spent the twenties dancing in speakeasies in dresses her mother would have deemed blasphemous, watching baseball in stadiums the size of castles, and flirting with rich men in the likes of New York, where big towers loomed over the growing city. 

When the Depression hit, she bought housing for the homeless, and deemed Hoover unfit for office. With more money than she knew how to spend, she gave it away, not being able to stand the sight of dirty children on the street, her heart tearing at the sight. Her anger with the world set in once again when the second world war began, shortly after the new president promised an exit from the Depression. 

In the first half of the forties, her eyes blazed with an ever present anger at the way the world never quit fighting. No one could ever have peace in a world driven by human greed and superiority. She thought about what would happen if she fought the war herself, she was resistant to poisonous gasses and bullets. Hell, she could win against any country she wanted to - given they didn’t throw fire, but humans weren’t that smart anyway. The back half of the forties, she spent on edge, just waiting for the announcement that the US had declared war on someone. The announcement never came, but she knew that it would one day. Humans can never fully live in peace. 

In June of 1950, she was proven right once more. North Korea had marched into war, and the United States would play the hero on the side of South Korea. For the next three years, Elisabette lived in an angry silence, frustrated by humans and their urge to kill. Of course, two years later, another war would begin in Vietnam, and she would have to resist the urge to replicate the ways of the Romanians, dominating over the humans as it “rightfully should be” - in the words of the Romanians themselves. 

Even though she promised herself that she was done with exposing herself to the limelight, especially with the invention of the camera - which she expected to stick around for awhile - she got involved with someone. She didn’t love him, and she knew he didn’t  _ really _ love her. Elisabette imagined that Jack also told his silver screen blonde mistress that he loved her too, even with his wife waiting in that big house, their two children having fallen asleep waiting for their father. She enjoyed the satisfaction that came with being with a man in power. And even though monogamy seemed more popular than ever among the elite, she knew that they would always favor affairs, given the choice. 

On that somber November day, for the first time since Carlisle left, Elisabette spilled hefty venomous tears. Red irises were clouded by the glossy white liquid that fell so numbly onto her flawless cheeks. The television, which she had yet to turn off, was now loudly announcing, “President Kennedy has been assassinated on this day, and died at 1 PM, Central Standard Time, 2 o’clock, Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago.” Her sobs became louder and she wordlessly banged her fists on the floor, hard enough that she heard a vase fall to the floor, subsequently shattering. How weak she was that day. 

Her days went slowly and quickly all at the same time. Before she knew it, it was August of 1969 and Elisabette found herself in the crowd of a music festival, said to be a place of love and peace. An almost comically large hat shielded her from the overcast New York sky (just in case), Garrett was standing next to her in similar attire. 

“I think I had a lot of fun.” Elisabette smiled at her friend, one of the few she had. They were walking the rainy streets of New Hampshire, only hours had passed since they had left the crowded festival that took up their whole weekend and part of Monday. 

“Fun isn’t something you  _ think _ you have, it’s something you either have or don’t!” Garrett explained to her, and for a moment he regretted his words. He saw a flash of emptiness in her bright crimson eyes. 

In that same moment, a head of platinum blonde hair could be seen bobbing along the streets, beside it a lankier figure of similar height with reddish-bronze hair. Elisabette knew in that moment that it was her Carlisle. She ran at a human speed to catch up to him, Garrett following closely behind. He ran into his friend’s marble body when she looked ahead and saw the possible love of her life happy in another woman’s arms. 

The woman’s maternally heart-shaped face was caressed by soft caramel locks and her red eyes stared above her at the blond man who Elisabette once called hers. She took in a deep intake of breath when they were met with a whole family, all smiles and happy chatter. When she turned to leave, Garrett was gone. She turned back to Carlisle’s  _ coven _ \- the word put a bad taste in her mouth - and her nomadic light-haired friend stood among the family as if he belonged there. 

She rolled her misty eyes, turning to leave only to be blocked by a large figure who shared her bleach smell. When she looked up into his eyes, they held an amusement in them, as if he had been waiting for this moment. 

“You must be  _ Elisabette _ ,” it felt like he was mocking her name, “Carlisle sure talks a lot about you.” He gently grabbed her elbow, knowing she would follow him to where the blonde man stood, talking to Garrett. 

“-I just think it would have been more fun if psychedelics actually worked on us- oh hey, Lissa!” Elisabette murmured a soft response to him, Emmett - as she saw his name was - still grasping on her arm. 

Carlisle introduced the pair to his family, although he was mainly talking to Garrett, knowing that Elisabette knew their names through Emmett’s touch. Lissa - her friend had begun to refer to her as such soon after Jack was assassinated - didn’t know if she could stand to talk to Carlilse, not while knowing that the flame for his love had never died out. 

“Well  _ Ellie _ ,” Emmett said, “How you likin’ New Hampshire?” 

“Less now that you’re here.” 


	6. Irony, The Ruin Of Woman

Even though Elisabette had forcefully denied Carlisle’s hospitality, Garrett insisted they stay. The elder vampire had never wanted to kill another immortal so badly in her lifetime. So they stayed. Carlisle and his family owned a large house in rural New Hampshire, one of many houses, according to tiny Alice. The fairy-esque girl raved about things Lissa had never really cared about: shopping, fashion, and decor. She listened, out of politeness, really. Elisabette understood the anger that came with not being listened to. It stuck with her everyday. 

Alice introduced Elisabette to Jasper, who spoke with a Texas drawl, and the two reminisced about the Civil War. She talked to Rosalie, who she felt she most related to. Being unwilling to participate in immortality, only to have to see the future you dreaded, Elisabette and Rosalie understood each other. Esme was kind, as much as Lissa hated to admit it. She cared for the clan as if they were her own children, and she felt they were. 

Edward was a different, unique story. He seemed discontent with his status as an immortal. While Rosalie despised the emotional turmoil that came with having to abruptly leave your family and the physical effects it had on the reproductive system, Edward hated it all. He considered himself a monster, and he didn’t let anyone else forget it. His deep red eyes held an ever present anger in them, like he wished he had just died. 

“You’ll meet someone one day, and you’ll forget about all the bad. I promise.” Lissa assured him, even if she wasn’t quite sure about her words. 

“So that’s worked for you, then?” So Edward wasn’t just depressed, he was also an asshole. 

“I-” 

Emmett interrupted then, “-She was just waiting for someone like you, buddy!” Elisabette scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“I was not! I just...I don’t see any bad, so I don’t need anyone!” She pointed an aggressive finger in his face. This time, Emmett scoffed. Both of them huffed and turned away from each other, like small children do. 

“What about you, huh, Emmett? Why haven’t you found anyone? Can they just not see past your personality?” Elisabette barely knew this man, and here she was, making fun of him. 

“And give up this sweet bachelor lifestyle? Yeah, no thanks!” 

“Oh, the one where you live with your parents?” Lissa crossed her arms across her chest, an almost warning. 

Garret entered the conversation, “You two fight like an old married couple! It’s rather sweet.” 

Emmett and Elisabette spoke at the same time, “Gross!” 

  
  


After about a week, Elisabette had grown tired of bickering with Emmett. She wanted this so-called “feud” to end, before it really began. Once she knocked on the door, he was quick to answer, as he probably heard her coming. He opened the door only slightly, and after seeing it was Lissa, he opened it all the way. Elisabette had been rendered speechless few times in her life. This was one. Emmett stood in the doorway, shirt off, muscles completely on display. The only other immortal Elisabette could think of who looked like Emmett did, was Felix. But even Felix wasn’t _this_ attractive. 

“Can I help you?” He was smirking, which made Elisabette mad.

“Um, y-yeah. I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For being mean to you. You did make my life a living hell for a bit though,” Elisabette said with a small giggle. 

“Living hell, huh? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, babe.” He winked at her, then closed the door, leaving Lissa with a gaping mouth. From inside his room, he yelled, “Close your mouth, doll!” 

Elisabette hated Emmett Cullen. 

  
  


The next week, Garrett and she took off. Lissa had told Garrett the story ten times at least. 

“Can you believe him?! ‘Babe’ and ‘doll’ as if I would ever be with a man like Emmett Cullen!” They were in the woods, and Garrett was getting rather tired of hearing about it. 

“Uh huh,” he said, as if he’d been listening. He was not. 

“I hope he knows that I’ll make _his_ life a living hell before he even _touches_ mine!” 

“Yep,” he said, as if he cared. He did not.

On some level, Elisabette knew that her light haired friend didn’t care about her problems with the Cullen brute. Her sheer anger at the situation caused the switch that controlled the rational part of her brain to flip to “off”. She hoped she would never see Emmett ever again, but something told her she’d see him anyway. That’s just how Elisabette’s life worked, if she willed something, the opposite would happen. Maybe that was her gift, she mused, though she was anything but humored. Perhaps her gut feeling was wrong, and she would never see the Cullen “family” again, but probably not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally figured out a posting schedule! I know this should have been done a while ago but, let's face it, it didn't. There will be two stories up (hopefully) everyday. The schedule looks something like this: Scorch and A Divine Hell; Serendipity and This Golden Sun; Woman, Scorned and Brighter Gold; Meraki and Nomad. The two that are listed together will be updated every four days if everything goes accordingly. If you haven't checked out the other stories I've listed, you GOTTA check 'em out! All of them are Twilight besides Brighter Gold, which is Pansmione from Harry Potter. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please comment and let me know!


	7. Torture, Everlasting

The world went on. Days got longer, then shorter, then long again. Light came, then went, then came again. Elisabette held a fear deep in her heart. A fear that eclipsed her body and shattered every inch of safety and security she had built up over the years. It hollowed her very soul, which she swore got colder by the day. 

Elisabette held worries for things she knew would come eventually, but the fear was different. For example, she worried that the Volturi would successfully recruit her, which she knew included brainwashing. A worry that the Cullens would reappear in her life sat in its own nook in the corner of her brain, as well. 

She clenched her eyes, listening to the sounds of the ocean.  _ Crash. Retreat. Build. Crash.  _ This paired with deep, unnecessary breaths, salt burning the inside of her nose. Though her lungs had yet to intake air in hundreds of years, it still felt nice, pretending. She did that a lot, pretend. She pretended to breathe, pretended to eat, pretended to live. The last was the hardest of all. It hurt, just a bit. Moving on in a society in which no one even cared to know her name. Such was life in 21st century America. 

Elisabette had been on the King’s court, loved the President (and had been loved back, as far as she was concerned), and fought for civil liberties. No one could know that, though. As far as everyone knew, Elisabette Victoria was a well-off college student in Portland, Oregon. She feigned a love for the smell of brewing coffee and a hatred for the rain. In reality, coffee - and most human food - caused a slight trigger in a sort of gag reflex, and the rain was the best cover up for her hidden identity. She wore a shy smile and a shimmery lip gloss to classes. Her teachers explained mathematics that she had seen discovered, read books which she had signed first edition copies of, and taught events that she couldn’t quite remember. 

Life was normal, routinely. For some, this would be painfully monotone, and they would crave difference and spontaneity. Not Elisabette. She craved domestic, craved all that she had lost in the woods that early morning. If she thought hard enough, she could see a little boy with a dark mass of curly hair. Who was he, though? A brother, nephew, cousin? Did she have a son? It clicked. He was her son, and she smiled. Elisabette’s hope as a mother filled her cold heart, and she hoped he had survived. She prayed to whatever deity she could think of that her bloodline had made it. Even hoped that her husband had remarried, that he hadn’t dwelled too harshly on her memory. Their names were lost though. If she could only remember the names, it would sink in, and she could move on. 

For weeks, she thought. Her entire brain was encompassed by the idea of figuring out the name of the curly haired boy with the sweetest smile. His face got slightly clearer everyday, but his name only got murkier. She was overcome with a dark, depressing fog. The friends that she had made at the small northwestern college were slightly concerned. She told them she was trying to remember someone, not a lie. An incomplete truth. 

Elisabette prematurely mourned her soul for the day she would remember his name. Her heart would break into a thousand jagged pieces and cut at her ribs, leaving cuts in their wake that would never heal. They would fester and itch and burn and she would do nothing but stare because, on some level, she knew she deserved it. A lonely, painful life was the perfect punishment for a sinner like her. Maybe the Volturi would do her a favor and kill her. No, she decided, Aro would rather lose someone along the likes of Santiago or Heidi just to have Lissa. 

Punishment, neverending, it would seem. On a trip to a small Washington town she didn’t care enough about to even learn the name of, she heard a voice. A booming, overpowering voice. Calling for her. 

“Ellie! Fancy seeing you here!” 

Emmett Cullen. 


	8. Righteously Devoted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: *vaguely described sexual assault*

The name alone itched at the very corners of her soul, leaving an aching wound that practically matched that of the loss of her son. Emmett stood behind Elisabette, a goofy grin plastered on his face. If Elisabette was more acquainted with him, she could probably believe that the expression was normal. She let out a deep sigh, one he couldn’t have missed. Turning on her heel, she noticed his broad arms crossed against his muscular chest. It was a defensive position and she knew that, even if he didn’t. 

“Can I help you with something?” Her tone was snarky, still he smiled. 

“If you’re game, then yes.” 

“And if I’m not?” 

He simply shrugged, a cocky way of telling Elisabette that he didn’t believe she would deny him. A tugging in her brain told her to leave. If she was smart, she would have listened to the feeling that told her that whatever was going to be proposed to her was not a good idea. Luckily for Emmett, Elisabette hated herself enough to stay, to listen to a possible threat to her life. 

“Fine,” she conceded. Every second that passed gnawed at her, chewing at her soul like a rabid animal. It was similar to how she felt, defenseless prey under attack by a predator much larger than herself. 

“There’s an army.” Suddenly he was serious, which worried her. 

“Where’s your soldier?” Now her arms were crossed. 

Emmett sighed, “Training us. Alice saw you, though, and he wanted us to ask you.” 

It was the moment that he looked down that Lissa realized he was talking about Jasper. Carlisle personally asked for Elisabette’s help. Her throat felt like it would close, and her brain fell into a black hole. 

She managed to stutter through an answer. The smile Emmett had donned was no longer there, replaced by a grim, almost regretful, face. 

“Edward’s found someone.” 

“Good for the little leech,” she replied sardonically. Any remnants of positivity had long vanished with the knowledge of Carlisle’s invitation. 

“She’s human.” 

Elisabette scoffed, “As if Edward could ever find a vampire to put up with him, let alone a _human_.” 

Upon seeing the chestnut locks and deep brown eyes of Bella Swan, Elisabette was convinced that Edward was an idiot. She was pleased to learn that Rosalie was in agreement. It was sort of annoying to Elisabette the way that Bella’s heart sped up when they crossed paths. Suddenly, Lissa was no longer the prey, she fell into the role of predator, and she quite enjoyed it. 

“Stop!” Edward’s hand wrapped around Lissa’s throat, his red eyes glaring with a familiar anger. Lissa had seen that absolute loathing in the mirror countless times before.

Lissa smirked, an antagonizing move, “Don’t like them, don’t listen to them.” To emphasize her point, she licked her venom coated incisors, Bella’s fearful eyes locked on her own. 

“E-Edward please j-just put her down,” her timid voice was enough to soften Edward’s grip, but never his eyes. 

“Son, put her down.” A pale hand on the shoulder and a calm authoritative voice was enough for Edward’s hand to completely drop, leaving Lissa a victim of gravity. 

Carlisle extended an arm, which she ignored. As she stood, Carlisle spoke again, “We greatly appreciate your presence. Jasper is extremely skilled in his training, but your strategy outplays his.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “We need you.” 

Lissa looked up, meeting his own scarlet eyes, soft in their own way despite their harsh color. “You need me?” It was more desperate than she had intended, but she truly didn’t care. Carlisle needed her again. He put a hand on her shoulder, providing his own version of a response. The lack of usual attention to her person reminded her of Esme’s existence. She was bitter again, but pushed the thought away. He needed her. His own wife could never satisfy _this_ need. She knew that; he needed her.

“Please,” he motioned towards the stairs, “let us talk with Jasper in my study, privately.” She gave a curt nod, looking in the direction of Rosalie’s disappearing frame, a farewell. 

“We’ve already decided that the wolves give an advantage. The newborns won’t know they exist,” Jasper said. 

“That was smart. Have they been attending your training sessions?”

“Only watching.” Elisabette frowned at Carlisle’s response. 

“Have they ever fought an actual vampire?” Her arms crossed. 

Jasper thought for a second, “Yes, actually. They killed a nomad who threatened Bella’s life while we were gone.” _Gone?_ At her confusion, Jasper shook his head, “I’ll have Emmett explain later, this takes precedence.” 

She rolled her eyes, “So they’ve never fought multiple at once?” Both men shook their heads at her. “Have any of you trained as a group?” 

“I’ve been training them one on one.” 

“Is battle one on one, Major?” He shook his head, his eyes falling to the ground. 

“You no longer have the time to properly train them as a group, we’ll have to take what we can get. All of you are viciously underprepared.” She was looking at Carlisle, his presence represented the majority of them, who had never had to fight, not for survival, anyway. 

“If that’s the end then-” 

“It’s not,” Lissa interrupted Carlisle, “I have one last thing. We’ll need to surprise them with numbers. If the main perpetrators won’t be at the forefront of the battle, there’s the slight chance their ‘soldiers’ have no idea how many they’re up against.” 

Jasper nodded, unsure how the thought had never crossed his mind. Their army was simply a distraction, they would never have properly trained them. It was a death sentence for the newborns, not that Elisabette was there. 

That night, Lissa was sentenced - at least in her mind - to listen to the steady heartbeat of Bella. The human had fallen asleep on the couch, a light blanket covered her body, courtesy of Esme. Lissa had to fight the urge to roll her eyes when she saw the motherly action. Then she had to face the hurt. _She_ had been a mother, and now she couldn’t even name her son. A hole reopened in her chest, burning her frozen veins, making its way up her throat, where the burn started. She left the house, knowing Carlisle would hate her if she killed Bella. 

Lissa ran until mud caked her shoes, branches and leaves clouded her hair, and water soaked her clothes. It only took a second for her to smell the blood. Fresh, a cut or scratch. She followed her predatory instincts to the source of the smell: a fallen hiker. 

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?!” She rushed to him, kneeling beside him, concern painting her face. 

“I fell from the ledge,” he managed to speak through the pain. 

A grip to his bleeding arm, cut by the jagged rocks he lay on, told her all she needed. _His hand tightly gripped the honey blonde hair of a girl, no older than fifteen, the fingers on his opposite hand digging into her pale skin, a few bruises having already formed. She screamed at him to stop, tears flowing from her light eyes, her own nails leaving scratches on his forearms._ Lissa grimaced and her mind didn’t need to be made. 

“Can you help me? Call 911?” His face was contorted in extreme pain, not allowing him to see the vampire’s amused face. 

“Oh, so sorry. No can do.” 

“What-” She exposed her fangs, dripping with venom, before she took his surely broken arm in her mouth. 

After she finished, she made sure to cover her tracks, taking a jagged rock to her victim’s arm, covering the bitemarks. Since she hadn’t drained him completely of blood, it wouldn’t be too suspicious when an autopsy was done. It would be believed that the fall killed him, the missing blood probably washed away in the approaching rain. It brought an almost sadness, to know that people would think he died so innocently, rather than killed to atone for his atrocities. She almost laughed at the thought, that she was so righteous, like it wasn’t just happenstance that he was dying _and_ horrible. 

“Hello, 911?” Her bell-tone voice rang through the phone, “I was walking through the forest, and I - a man - looks like he’s fallen from the ledge! I think he’s dead!” Faux fear bled into her voice. It had been hours since she’d fed. Lissa had been sitting by the body, wishing for something different. A different life, timeline, fate. Some part of her wished she’d just been fed on by her murderer, some hopeless soul lost in time. The burn of the venom was enough to singe whatever heart she’d had. She hoped she’d been kinder to her son than she’d been to herself. Cloudy tears fell onto her face, and she was so _annoyed_ with herself. 

  
By the time the emergency responders had actually responded, she was long gone, perplexing the police who needed her for questioning. Only one of them took notice of the faint scars of scratch marks on his arm, a chain reaction. Elisabette smiled from her spot in the tree, knowing he would truly be tried, even in death. _Some other poor girl would, hopefully, receive her justice._


End file.
